It was like a scene from the movies. We were on our cell phones, trying to find each other, and then BAM! I must have sounded like a howler monkey, because my voice went up into the stratosphere (or, as a trumpet player, the Faddisphere) as I looked at Prianka for the first time in years. She’d lost over 100 pounds, due to diet and becoming one of those freak runners that’s training for a 50k. But she was still the same old Pri that I know. We picked up like five minutes had passed between us. I hugged her so hard I didn’t want to let go, and then we walked from the Columbia Heights Metro station to a great vegan restaurant. Seriously the best facon I have ever had in my entire life. I don’t know what they put in it, but I am almost sure it is crack. It was the first vegan bacon I’d ever had where I was like, “could you make me six pans….. thanks.” I got what was called a Texas burger- bacon and cheese on a whole wheat bun and a patty held together with sunflower seeds and awesome.

After lunch, we hiked through the zoo because it was close and I wanted to see the pandas for the first time since I was eight, but the Panda House was closed. The reason I haven’t seen the pandas since I was eight is that I’m pretty sure the Panda House was closed the entire time I lived here before….. The only other thing that interested me was the Reptile House, but even I chickened out at the last minute. Some of the snakes and lizards are the most beautiful in the world, but others are from the country of “Nope.” So instead, we just stayed on the main trails. I was telling Pri that when I lived in Portland, I’d become somewhat of a hiker for real, that I was comfortable with switchbacks and incline, and she freaked out, because she has never been able to convince any of her other friends to go with her. This is because hiking for the uninitiated is ALSO from the country of “Nope.” So we’re planning hiking trips and going to see Armin Van Buren and Childish Gambino this summer.

She and Elena, her fiancee, are getting married on May 16^th, so we only got to spend about four hours together before it was time for her to go home and get back to the planning, because of course now it’s crunch time/freakout mode. I know four hours seems like a long time, but we’d not seen each other for, honestly, I don’t know how many years. Maybe 2008? I forget. But sufficed to say, it’s been a long time and the epic first convo could have gone on for four more. We talked about the places we are in our lives, and Pri Diddy and I are walking the same path, but we’re at different points. She’s a lot further along than I am, especially since she’s discovered the incredible endorphins that come with exercise. I told her that I was finding the same thing- that I walk at least four miles a day to ensure that not only do I get endorphins, I get a fair amount of sunshine as well. The only problem is that at four miles a day, the tread is already starting to wear off on my shoes…. not necessarily something to be proud of, per se, but it does show A for effort.

Unfortunately for me and my weird eyesight, today I tripped over a raised manhole and scraped the hell out of my knee, ripping a hole in the nicest pants I own (I dressed up for company). Prianka was so great. She’s all like, “do you need to get some new pants?” I was touched that she’d take time out of her day to help me shop, but at the same time, the object of the game was to walk and talk with her. I could deal with a hole in the knee of my pants if it meant more time on the trails with her. A little road rash never hurt anybody, and when I checked my knee when I got home, it was not nearly as severe as it felt in the moment.

And now I am on the front porch of my house, as per my usual, relaxing at the patio table and looking out over the neighborhood. It’s peaceful and quiet because Mike, Hayat, and I are the only ones home. Mike is washing his car as I type this, and the soap smells like cherries and apples. The sun is shining brightly…… outside, too.

The courtroom was packed, the full Sanhedrin in attendance. To picture the scene, imagine any case that’s gotten a lot of press. OJ. Bernie Madoff. Andrea Yates. Rodney King. I am sure that with those examples, you are seeing a three-ring circus of activity in your mind, and you would not be wrong. When the people saw a man disabled from birth get up and walk, they couldn’t help but talk about it. I mean, wouldn’t you? It was a laying on of hands that actually worked, a miracle in the midst of poverty. As Peter says, and I am paraphrasing, “I don’t have any money to give you, but through the power of Christ, I CAN make it where you don’t have to beg anymore.” However, the people’s reactions scared the hell out of the establishment, because “they were in charge.” Who were these nutbags trying to take their power? If Peter and John could heal people and the Jewish elected officials could not, this wasn’t a case based on the disciples’ wrongness in healing, but the fear instilled in the Sanhedrin that they weren’t the best game in town. Supposedly, Peter and John were just arrested for “investigation.” In light of our current court system, does this make any sense to you? If the Sanhedrin just wanted intel, why would they have to hold them in the first place?

Because this case was not about investigation. It was about containment. You don’t arrest people for doing good things if you aren’t threatened by them. The threat was real to the Sanhedrin, because how long would it be before there was utter chaos? What if this Jesus fellow got more followers than they did? Rulers need people to lead. What would happen if all the Jews they governed decided to follow Jesus of Nazareth instead? It would render them irrelevant, and it was not an idea they were willing to…………. entertain. By the time John and Peter were taken in, the message that the beggar had been healed had already reached, according to Acts 4:3, five thousand people. The Sanhedrin didn’t want to get intel. They wanted to get even.

Yet Peter and John stand strong. When asked about the authority under which they healed the beggar, they were bold to say, “Jesus of Nazareth, the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, it has now become the cornerstone.” They have, in a word, chutzpah. They told the establishment right to their faces that they were so over. To put this pericope in perspective, it would be like telling the Supreme Court that their services were no longer required. It is interesting to note that the extract ends with Peter’s declaration:

There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among mortals by which we must be saved.

It does not, however, include the verdict.

Therefore, this week we are only asked to examine John and Peter’s faithfulness, and not what the Sanhedrin decides.

This particular scripture has been used for years as a “clobber passage,” and by that, I mean that there are LOTS of Christians that pull it out just to prove that Jesus is the only way to God, and that members of any other religion are condemned, because their God is the ONLY God. It gives that type of Christian license to discriminate, and they do.

But does that sound like the Jesus you know? In all of the wandering into the scriptures that we have done on this web site, is there any evidence that Jesus would have turned away anyone? What would possess Peter to say something like that about the Christ he knows?

Paraphrasing Inigo Montoyo, “you keep using that scripture. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Peter is begging to be heard, and it is stretching to say that he is being exclusive. He is speaking to the SANHEDRIN, not the entire world. He’s not saying that if you belong to another religion, you are condemned. Rather, he is saying to the Jews, “we found the Messiah and you killed him. The one person that could have saved us all and you threw him under the bus.” Again, I am paraphrasing here, but I am choosing to put the pericope in modern language. To hear the whole story, we have to look past the Lectionary and keep reading. Hear the words of Peter:

Fellow Israelites, why does this surprise you? Why do you stare at us as if by our own power or godliness we had made this man walk? The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of our fathers, has glorified his servant Jesus. You handed him over to be killed, and you disowned him before Pilate, though he had decided to let him go. You disowned the Holy and Righteous One and asked that a murderer be released to you. You killed the author of life, but God raised him from the dead. We are witnesses of this. By faith in the name of Jesus, this man whom you see and know was made strong. It is Jesus’ name and the faith that comes through him that has completely healed him, as you can all see.

Now, fellow Israelites, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did your leaders. But this is how God fulfilled what he had foretold through all the prophets, saying that his Messiah would suffer. Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord, and that he may send the Messiah, who has been appointed for you- even Jesus.

Peter is so strong in his belief that Jesus is the Messiah that the Jews have been waiting for that he gets up in front of the crowd that has gathered around the beggar and boldly proclaims that the Jews have it all wrong, and need to ask for forgiveness.

In some ways, he chose………………………. poorly.

That sermon put him at the top of the watch list, because he was arrested shortly afterward. You know, just for “investigation.” It is therefore wrong for any Christian to separate others from their love and concern, because when we do, we are taking the audience out of context. Peter isn’t talking to us. He’s addressing the Jewish establishment and pointing his finger at them. It is unimaginable boldness.

Unimaginable boldness.

What, to you, does that phrase entail? How are you standing up and preaching the Gospel with a boldness of your own? How has the Christ become your cornerstone? Are you willing to talk about it? I am getting better about it, but for me, it’s difficult. As an introvert, the last thing I want to do is stand out. The last thing I want to do is preach the gospel in my daily life, because I do not want to sound like all I do is speak Christianese. You know the type. You’re on Facebook.

I choose to make my boldness the way I move in the world. If someone notices how I say something about Jesus and comments on it, I will respond. But I would rather feed the homeless and visit seniors and march in peace rallies than ever end a conversation with “have a blessed day.”

I also wonder out loud that if I was put on trial for being a Christian if there would ever be enough evidence to convict me. I talk a good game, but I am just as much of a miserable sinner as everyone else, because in the moments where I am called to be bold, I have a history of running away…. ironically, just like Peter. While Jesus was in jail awaiting trial, Peter hid and denied he knew Jesus at all because he was afraid of what would happen to him if he didn’t.

It is almost as if we are talking about two different people, but we’re not. We are talking about one flawed person who waffles his way through life, just like we do. We all have those moments where we know we can handle anything, and those moments where becoming an adult is the worst decision we’ve ever made. Two disparate thoughts in one brain, at different times in our lives. Boldness is in realizing those “I can handle anything” moments are a choice. We have the option to be bold. We get those moments when we can get up and preach like Peter, who proclaims the Messiah even though he knows that being in front of the entire Sanhedrin on trial for healing someone will likely not end well for him. He has unimaginable boldness.

If boldness is a choice, where do we turn when we feel the most weak?

Today’s gospel is the parable of The Good Shepherd, in the book of John. Jesus points out the difference between boldness and weakness by using the example of a hired hand. A hired hand will not take time to know his flock. When push comes to shove, if things get dirty or dangerous, a hired hand will just run away and leave the sheep to fend for themselves. It’s one of the most famous passages in the whole Bible, and most people take it to mean that Jesus will take care of them.

How ’bout NO?

The parable is not a statement, but a question. What type of Christian are you? Are you someone that knows the flock and takes care of it even if there’s trouble… or are you the hired hand who runs away when you don’t know what to do? The comfort is not in Jesus taking care of all of us, but that we obtain the skills to shepherd each other.

I will tell you a secret that’s not really a secret. All my life, I’ve been a hired hand, because I did not have enough self-worth to believe that I was capable of what Jesus was asking. Now, my journey is to accept who I am and how I can better myself so that my growth and development causes a ripple effect and touches the lives of the people who read me. I do not do this of my own accord. I do this because I reflect the words of First John:

We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us– and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action. And by this we will know that we are from the truth and will reassure our hearts before him whenever our hearts condemn us; for God is greater than our hearts.

We are allowed to be bold, because God accepts us whether we’re right or not. Whether we’re bold or not. Whether or not we can believe in God, God can believe in us. This scripture begins and ends not with the actions of Jesus or Peter or John or anyone else. This scripture says that God will forgive us when our own hearts condemn us. God has forgiveness for us when we can’t forgive ourselves.

It is almost as if God can love us through anything, so why not be bold?

Unimaginably bold.

Amen.

I am writing this again after having had a miserable experience with writing in my browser. For some reason, linux has an option to turn off the touchpad while I’m typing, but it doesn’t work with every application. So, I’m working hard on telling you all about my dinner with Nathan, and BAM. Gone. All because the palm of my hand made my browser hit “back.” So I will still tell you all about dinner with Nathan, but if you hate this entry, the other one was better….. or at least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Nate is my mother’s sister’s kid, but he has become so much more than that to me. Of everyone in my extended family, he’s probably the person I know/get along with the best, simply because I see him more. I am thrilled to be able to be his friend on a day-to-day basis now, because we’ve never had that before as adults, and as kids, there were only five years in which we lived close to my grandmother and therefore were able to share holidays. As we were talking about earlier, it’s been kind of sad how disconnected we’ve become since our grandmother died, and we’re trying to fix it. He’s been great about telling me how to get help for mental health in this area, because he’s a forensic psychiatrist himself. It’s interesting, basically he works with insurance companies as the third-party who can tell the insurance company objectively whether a patient’s mental health can be directly correlated to an accident. He’s also trying to get back into patient care, which I support wholeheartedly, because if he is this wonderful to me, I can’t imagine how much the people would love him who get to call him their doctor.

We started at a Mexican restaurant called Lauriol Plaza in Dupont. I had Chuletas de Cochinilo, grilled pork chops (they had me at chuleta….) served over mashed potatoes, greens, apples, and pineapple. It is the first truly outstanding meal I have had in DC, and I can’t wait to go back, possibly even for work.

I don’t know that I could be a line cook there, though. Fine dining is not my area. In terms of my role as line cook, I am somewhere between organ grinder and monkey. I think I would be a much better server, because I can be quite charming when I want to be. I just need to practice my wine service. To me, that’s the only hard part of waiting tables in fine dining, because I am not smooth enough without constant repetition and it’s been years. However, I cannot impress upon you how cool this restaurant is. You’ll just have to visit it yourself.

After we finished at Lauriol Plaza, we walked to Afterwords, because as it turns out, Afterwords and Teaism are two of Nathan’s favorites as well. We had coffee and dessert, and I got to remember why it’s my favorite place in the city all over again. I had bread pudding with apples and bananas. Nathan had a lemon tort. Both desserts were equally outrageous, and before we left, I bought a book I’d been thumbing through while we were waiting for our table.

It’s called “The New Codependency,” written by the same author of the watershed book “Codependent No More.” In it, Melody Beattie posits that codependence has changed, and now it looks more like a taker’s entitlement rather than an inability to stop giving. I don’t know that I believe her, but I am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, because I cannot imagine she hasn’t done her research. 🙂

I personally think it’s a combination of both… a spectrum in which we all fall somewhere in every relationship but not necessarily the same role in each one. Perhaps that’s what Beattie says as well, but I am not finished with anything except the synopsis on the back. I will keep you posted. I know you’re riveted. I’ll try to read fast.

After books, it was time to go home. Nathan and I hugged and said our goodbyes at the Metro, and then I got on the train. When I arrived in Silver Spring, there was something big going down at the Mickey D’s, but I didn’t stay around to see what. I am sure I will find out in tomorrow’s edition of the Post. No need to go looking for trouble, even though I’d planned to get a Diet Coke and settle in for an hour of writing or so. Instead, I just walked home.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude at all the love that has poured out for me here. All the “oh my God I can’t believe it-s” and the “I’m so glad you’re here-s” make my days brighter than they’ve been in months. Divorcing my precious Dana just whipped the shit out of me, and I am just now recovering from it, especially since being so far away makes my relationship with Dana naturally fall back to best friends without any danger of crossing lines so that we are confused about the nature of our relationship….. or at least, now I’m not confused. That’s probably the take-home message I meant to write in the first place.

I made a friend-connection on Tinder a few days ago with a roller derby chick named Sarah. We’re going to have coffee in the next week or so. She’s seeing someone, so no danger of anything but fun. It’s nice to get connected with a lesbian in this town, because even though it’s one of the gayest places on earth, it’s hard to get established when you don’t know anyone…. although I do know one person.

Pri-Diddy.

I named her myself. Can’t you tell? Her actual name is Prianka, but come on. If I am not calling her Pri-Diddy, I do not know what I am doing with my life. She’s in a relationship as well, but we’ve never done the whole crush thing. I started chatting with her years ago, and when she had the opportunity to come to Portland, she stayed with me and it cemented us for life. She is absolutely going apeshit that we are practically neighbors in terms of the Red Line (I’m Silver Spring, she’s Van Ness). So am I. I have always wanted a daily relationship with Pri-Diddy, and now I have it.

On Wednesday, I am going to see my friend and former voice teacher, Giles. The way he became my voice teacher is that he was taking a pedagogy class for his master’s in voice and needed a guinea pig. He is the best voice teacher I have ever had in my life, which is surprising because he’s also the youngest. If he’s amenable to it, I’d love to start voice lessons again. It’s been since college, when he first took me under his wing and laughed at my German diction. We became fast friends, what with his whole “I’m a Canadian” schtick. He’s also handsome as a model, and I am not even kidding about that. His husband is one very lucky guy… but then again, so is Giles. I just can’t say for sure because I haven’t met him yet. I am so glad that now Giles is married with a son that I get to be a part of his life now.

I am beginning to see that I could have made a life in DC without Kathleen just fine…………..

Better nate than lever.

Wait, if I’m going to have a title like that, I need to redye my hair, because the red has faded over time. Guess I’m going to have to go to Walgreen’s……… because as I always say, “you cannot find the color of my hair in nature, but you can find it at Walgreen’s.” It’s part of my personality now, and people have called me “Red” or “Spike” since college. Because that is my style- bright auburn and cut my hair until it stands up on its own. My former boss at University of Houston, Scott, is the one that originally named me. I had his number, though, because his last name is Reval. I called him DrReval for the entire time I worked there. 🙂

Speaking of University of Houston, when I worked there I did a host of jobs. I was hired originally as a computer lab monitor, and then they saw that I was really good at helping students go from “this is a mouse” to competent quickly and promoted me to the Graduate School of Social Work lab, where I taught grad students how to hit Save for a living. Just FYI, I had one student who lost an entire thesis because his floppy crapped out on him and he’d saved his work to it and deleted the copies on his hard drive. The floppy issue is no longer, but removable media in and of itself is going to be more likely to fail than your computer. Make sure you backup to the cloud with documents, because then they’re accessible from any computer with Internet access and you won’t run the risk of saying “oh, fuck” and all of the blood running out of your face when you realize that your entire graduate education is now smashed into oblivion. Think about it. All those keychain drives are going to be roughed up way more than a stationery hard drive. Use the Internet, people. Saving you from dumbass attacks one document at a time. Both Google and Microsoft provide excellent web apps for documents- so much so that you probably won’t miss LibreOffice. If you do, you can use Dropbox or Boxee or whatever to sync your documents folder. The only drawback is that if you upload .odt files, they won’t be viewable or editable. You’ll just have a repository of documents that you can’t do anything with while mobile.

I use Google Docs because at Marylhurst, we had Google Apps for Education and used it all day, every day, so now I’m married to it. I don’t think that it has as many features in the word processor as the Microsoft Web Apps, but I don’t need them. This is what I do. I type. I don’t really use formatting tools so much as collaboration. It’s kind of cool when the whole group signs into one document. Everybody has a different color cursor so you can tell who is changing what instantaneously. The first time I saw it, I nearly fell out of my chair with awe.

And, as usual, I have drifted off into ADD territory and told a story that is informational, but has nothing to do with the topic at hand. I’m just that way all the time. As the bumper sticker says, “I like non-sequiturs and peanut butter.” Yup, that about covers it.

Yesterday all I did was walk. For ADD people, movement encourages brain activity and it helps keep me thinking about what I need to do and how to do it. My mental health is also a hell of a lot better, because I am high on endorphins all day every day. I don’t know exactly how FAR I walked, but I know it was at least seven or eight miles, because the trek from my house to the Metro and back is four miles all by itself. It makes me feel good to walk, so every time I pull out my card for the bus, so far I’ve thought about it and said, “nah. I’ll just walk” And then I put my card back in my pocket and move on.

You are probably asking what I did on said walk. I ate at Panera Bread and asked if they had any jobs available, because I got a broth bowl with couscous, greens, and eggs that was literally the comfort food I have been looking for my entire life (get in my face OM NOM NOM). I bought pseudophed at the pharmacy and asked if they had any jobs available (especially after being a medical assistant, pharmacy notation is easy). I went to Lillie’s in the evening for a house Malbec that made me cry, it was so good. Then I went to the server’s station and asked if they had any jobs available. This is the one that may work out, because they’re looking for people and I left them with my contact information and said I was looking for work as a line cook or a server because I have experience in both. Later on, I went for a redeye at Starbucks and asked if they were hiring, too. Starbucks is key here, because their employees get health insurance from day one. Out of pocket, my plan now is over $300 a month, which is just unsustainable for me.

I absolutely do not care where I end up, only that I need a job and all of these places said they had spots open. I have said many times that the goal is not to get a high-octane job because all I really want to do is write. It is not fair of me to give my time to someone else when I am building my own dreams instead of theirs. Being the chip and pickle guy at a deli is fine. Just don’t put me on call.

There is no shortage of low wage jobs in DC because most people can’t afford to live like that, but I can. As I have mentioned, my house only charges $800 all bills paid. It’s insane, but Hayat’s daughter explained to me that her mother was an immigrant in this country and feels a duty to help other people acclimate as well. She is the mother hen, and I couldn’t be happier about it because I have someone who worries for me that I don’t have enough towels. Her generosity in rent allows me freedom, and for that, I am so grateful. It’s funny how I found exactly the right place for myself by clicking on an ad on Craig’s List randomly.

God is in the details. I learn that every day by slowing down. People with cars and road rage are moving so fast that they cannot see those moments where they break down under all the pressure of running so hard and inflict emotional damage on the people around them. I am trying to understand me, so that I have appropriate reactions and boundaries because I inflict emotional damage when I feel threatened. I just pop off and say things without thinking about it and people cry and I don’t know how to handle it, because I was just angry in the moment and not trying to fuck up relationships but I do. We get to the point where I can’t apologize enough, and I just let go.

In fact, I just walk away.

Killing Argo (the character) is the hardest thing as a writer I’ve ever had to do. As I told her directly, “sometimes I have to take off my glasses and wipe my eyes, because I can’t write to anyone the way I write to you. I can’t write ABOUT anyone the way I write about you.” She changed me for the better- I’ve been changed for good. YES, WE ARE DOING SHOW TUNES NOW.

I hope that in killing her character, I can somehow, some way get out of the loop where I react on paper. I wanted a life in which she could SEE ME, because my words on a page do some of that, but the disconnect between the Internet me and the regular me is STARK, let’s just say that. I would rather go to her and tell her my thoughts in person than ever have a moment where she worries that I do not take her words on a page as seriously as I do my own. If that does not happen, I know for sure that the message will get passed along just because of the medium. I love Marshall McLuhan, because I needed him today. The medium is the message, but what am I going to DO WITH IT?

I want to start with the axiom that I did not come here *for* Argo, but to do the great things in her name that I have been saying I was GOING to do for ages, but haven’t actually done jack shit. I am turning inward by moving to a location where I know no one, because you don’t get to see Jesus. Have some wine. I am not saying that I AM Jesus, only that because of our personality type, we both need the same isolation in order to prepare. In a way, I have already started. In fact, the people I talked to knew a lot about how to get started, and I wish I had recorded the conversation so I can go back and listen to it again. One of the young girls at the table had a lime green cast on her arm because she’d been hit by a car. It made me think deeply about indigence and how to change it, because a broken arm is not a cheap fix, and every time I see someone like Stephanie who has just been roughed up by life one day after another, it is hard for me to deal.

I don’t give money, but thoughts run through my head like, “she doesn’t have a coat. She sleeps outside, and SHE DOESN’T HAVE A COAT.” Do you know how hard it was not to take off my own even though if I had, I wouldn’t have a coat, either? I am crying as I write this because the experience was so jarring. There is just this inane perception that homeless people want to be homeless so they don’t have to get a job, etc. From what I saw, that is LITERALLY crack-smoking foolishness. Why would anyone want to sleep outside from April to November? As I said in my Facebook status update, it’s only 55 degrees, and it is almost noon. Can you imagine how the temperature drops when the sun goes down?

It pains me so much that I almost gave up the one coat I brought to Silver Spring because I knew that it would save someone I came to adore in a very short time from lying down on the ground without anything rated for 32 degrees.

Because you know what? At the end of the day, I can buy another one. What does she do?

I am going to find out.

One of my favorite movies now that Argo the character is dead.

in the middle of Silver Spring there is a large seating area outside the Discovery Center. 
I finish my shopping, and went to sit down for a few minutes. There was a table full of black people next to me-unimportant because of their color, just trying to give you an accurate picture.

It didn’t take me very long to figure out that they were homeless, and my brain lit up. Ask them what they need.

Apparently, Silver Spring only has a homeless shelter in the winter. From April until November, everyone sleeps outside. They also said that there are no beds, there are just mats on the floor. Also, space is so limited that many people die of exposure. It is amazing what you can learn with some real intel. 35 minutes at a table full of homeless people, and already my brain is working like a machine. There is no all season homeless shelter in Silver Spring, and if I were to build one, people I know would use it.

you’ll have to wait a little longer for a full entry….. my laptop is dead and I left the charger at home.

#dumbassattack

Apparently I have moved in with a large Middle Eastern family, and I couldn’t be happier. Here’s why…. Hayat was born and raised in Lebanon, therefore, she is the goddess of the house when it comes to Lebanese food. Dom is an executive chef that works for one of Jose Andres’ restaurants. We shot the shit immediately. He went to Tapalaya and ate Anh Lu’s food. Not while I was working there, but still. It counts. 🙂

We have five dogs, but it’s a multi-family home so they’re not crowding us out. One of the dogs is a tiny Pom that looks like a Tribble. I wanted a house with a dog, and I have one for each weekday. Because sometimes you need a Lab. I do. I like to hike. I am not carrying a little Pommie bitch all over creation. But then again, given that I have often said that I am a rat dog personality, perhaps it is me that is the little Pommie bitch. Time will tell. I felt like a little Pommie bitch today when I accidentally got on the blue line and rode out to Braddock and turned around. I called Dana immediately to tell her that the first time I got on the Metro, I went the wrong way, because Dana appreciates things like this. I also told her that I was B19 boarding this morning, because that type shit makes her weirdly happy.

I met a woman on the Metro that was in town for an anesthesiology conference, and we hit it off immediately in a friend-type way. I told her that I would rather tell people I was a serial killer than a doctor on a train or plane just because with serial killer, there are generally very few follow up questions (Do you get dental with that?). When you say you’re a doctor, people start showing you stuff.

Ew.

So she does the classic doctor thing and says, “Doctor, it hurts when I do that!” and bends her finger. “Well,” we said together in unison, same tone of voice, “DON’T DO THAT.” We both dissolved into giggles and I could tell that she really wanted to invite me for drinks in that “you’re my new best friend and my daughter can’t pick me up for a couple of hours” kind of way. It was nice to make a connection on the train to my new house, because in that moment everything came together and I realized that I could rest and relax. I was home. However, I did not go for drinks with said doctor, because I was really bagged and just wanted to get home. Hayat came to pick me up at Silver Spring Station, and I looked all over as we drove home. Guys, it looks like Portland up in this bitch.

No, SERIOUSLY.

I laughed to Hayat that I’d only been here for a half hour and already I’m like, “the Maryland side is BETTER.” Plus, there’s a Washington Redskins coffee table next to my bed that would make Dana have an aneurysm.

It’s only 7:00, but I did not sleep well last night. I only got a couple hours because I was so excited. I was such a zombie that my dad is going to Fedex my glasses………….

That’s all you get for today. It’s the teaser trailer. I gotta check this mother out before you get any more.

Arriving at 3:30 at DCA, then hopping the Metro either home or to Afterwords, depending on how I feel. I may go home just to dump my stuff, but I don’t know yet since I’m just bringing a suitcase and a backpack. What I do know is that my house is beautiful, inside the Beltway on the Maryland side, 11mi as the crow flies from the White House, and the family I live with has gatherings every 2-3 weeks where everyone is invited.

It is so amazing to be this blessed at once.

Dana has agreed to help my dad finish the house so I can get out of town faster, which is just superhuman of her, and one of the reasons I love her so much. Even though we’re divorced, she’s still nice to me. Not many people get that kind of friendship after a divorce, and I am so happy to say that I did. As we said to each other yesterday, we may not ever be a couple again, but there will always be an us. Dana has also said that she hasn’t been as eager to get back together as I have, but that some of the messages that we have something worth working on have stuck in the back of her brain. I told her that was enough for me. We both need time to explore the planet on our own, but just the fact that I am not leaving her with a basket of regrets and she does remember good things lets me rest. It wasn’t all bad.

I got a little tipsy celebrating with Dana and told her sister that I loved her. I do not remember doing this, and because it was a memory Dana had and not me, I crouched on the floor and just cried. Mostly because I have been tripping over my own feet emotionally for a long time, and I was terrified that I’d sad something horrible. I didn’t. I also handed the phone back before I heard her say “I love you, too.” But Dana told me she said it. I asked her to tell Steffi for me that it was one of the most healing moments I’ve had in months. And, of course, when Dana said that I talked to her sister and told her I loved her, she waited until the very very last moment to say Stephanie said she loved me, too. So, I’m like hunched over in “no, God…. please…. no…..” mode when Dana reassures me that all is well and I said, “you might want to have led with that.”

Still looking for a place in DC because the other two were gone by the time I was ready to plunk down money. Craig’s List makes it so easy to search for shared housing, though, so new places are imminent. I love how you can just go to the web site and type in the neighborhood I want. I don’t want to be further out than Alexandria, because I don’t want to drive anywhere. I have found several places in SW Waterfront and Dupont I want to look at, because I won’t have to buy gas. I’m also looking at Anacostia/Bolling AFB area because A) It’s cheaper 2) That is the neighborhood where I really want to live. The idea for St. James was conceived by thinking how a church design would lead down into the river for those that wanted to be baptized that way. In order to get to know the neighborhood well enough to start a church, it might behoove me to live there. Plus, I don’t want to be too far from Dupont, because that’s where my favorite restaurants are, especially the ones where a woman might be likely to come up to me and say she saw me reading a book.

God, I am so adorable when I’m reading. It’s only when I start talking that there’s a problem. 🙂

Everything is coming together like a puzzle. The corners are done as I reach toward the middle. Dana is already coming to town in June, so we will not be apart for very long before we get to see each other again and check in. I want to show her “my DC,” and I will take her for every spare moment she’s got between her family and friends that already live there. If they’re available, I would like her to meet Ruth & Brian, because I think she would like them and it’s a not so subtle hint to try and get her roped in up here………….. #prayingonthespaces

I know you’ll read this eventually, honey……. I have the best of intentions. Somehow I don’t think trying to get you to move closer to your parents and me is that much of a bad plan. 🙂 Even though I might have a new girlfriend/wife by the time you move, that doesn’t mean that I won’t explain to her that I left half my brain in Houston and she needs to love you for all that you are, too. I never want you to go away. It’s in the standard best friend contract, which we signed almost 12 years ago. That’s Addendum A, in case you’re wondering.

Back to you, Bob. Let’s go to the phones.

I would be lying my ass off if I didn’t say I hoped Argo would finally come around, but to say that she’s the reason I’m moving is a superhuman, Elastigirl stretch. I lived perfectly happily in DC without her for almost two years, and that hasn’t changed. I have told her that the world will explode with our agreement and nothing less. I have to thank her for giving me my space. That I’ve been able to process an enormous amount of shit so that I could move on by going back and reading what I’ve thought over the years. I told Dana today that I couldn’t in good conscience reach out to her, because I’d already irritated the hell out of her long enough. It is not worth my time to invest in a relationship that was so amazing in the beginning and devolved so that instead of being a loving friendship, it was gutter-sniping all around. Two first children with the quirks to match. However, I think that would go away if we could actually have a conversation. Or, it might not. Ultimately, that is her call. I imagine a great scene of bumping into each other accidentally and not quite recognizing where we know that face from, but it sort of looks fam……… OH MY GOD.

Because I like this girl, it will be on the one day I run out to the grocery store in my pajamas and bedhead. Because of course it will be. Either that, or she’ll walk up to me in a restaurant and my face will be so full of food I can’t talk, because that’s always attractive. It’s not Argo’s siren that calls to me, it’s the life I led while I was there. I felt more like myself walking around alone in DC than I ever had before.

I also realized another reason why I cannot stay here, and it has bothered me since I was 15. Because there was no clear message on Diane’s part that we were never going to be together until AFTER she’d already let me read her journal, I have these sentimental feelings about Houston that have become very creepy over time and they scare the hell out of me. Like, I almost didn’t go to my first therapy appointment when I got here because her office was six blocks from Diane’s old house.

Argo has changed my perspective on Diane, because listening to me gave her a chance to help heal me after a long and arduous (argoous?) emotional journey. She’s one of the people that rushed in when I was so sick two years ago, because I was just starting to vomit up emotions I hadn’t felt in eons.

But because my memories of Diane here are no longer happy for me, they torture me in a way that I just don’t want anymore.

I took a break from writing this and found a place in Silver Spring, all bills paid for $795. I’m flying out on Tuesday, I believe, because my roommate said that was better for her. However, if it’s cheaper to fly on Mondays, just come on.

The line that got her was “I’m thinking of starting a homeless ministry in Anacostia.” The line that got me was “we have a huge screen porch where you can do your writing.”

My dad and I were sitting in a diner when he said, “DC is your Paris. You know I would take off for Paris at a moment’s notice.” It’s been that way since I was eight. I have literally been in love with the city for almost 30 years, and I’ve gotten to visit many times, and lived there for 18 months when I was married to Kathleen and she got into ExxonMobil’s Global Information Systems department and they asked us whether we wanted to remain in Houston or go to their Fairfax, VA office. I am positive that I talked Kathleen into it, this whole moving to DC thing, but it was something I had to do. I needed to get out of Texas, and why wouldn’t I go somewhere I’d wanted to be since my mother handed me a copy of “Ramona Quimby, Age 8” and said, “you can’t read it until we’re ON THE PLANE.” My excitement was immediately engaged, because the flight was so special I got to have a special book to read ON IT.

So the love affair with DC has nothing to do with friends; in fact, I would be happy sharing a small apartment and riding the Metro everywhere- kind of a silent observer to the beauty DC has to offer when you’re really looking for it. The drive from the Pentagon in is breathtaking, and even when I lived there, I still got tears in the corner of my eyes as I passed the Jefferson Monument, even though I drove past every week for church. Because I’m an Episcopalian now, I feel a responsibility to at least go to St. Paul’s K Street once, but Ruth and Brian, the co-pastors of my church, had my heart when the first time I came to church, they said, “this is kind of an unusual Sunday- we’re having a potluck during morning worship. We’re using coffee and muffins for communion. Is that okay?”

I’m sorry. Did you say COFFEE at COMMUNION?

Thank you, Jesus. Coffee has always been a life-giving substance for me, and it made Ruth laugh……

I have told this story before, but it is apt here. Kathleen and I were in a bookstore in Dupont called “Lambda Rising,” and I was looking at the spirituality section. I found this book on More Light (the presbyterian reconciling ministry), profiling some of the ministers involved. I knew Janie Spahr. I knew Katie Morrison. And on page 45 (I think), there was a picture of Susan Leo standing at the front of the sanctuary giving the benediction.

Susan. Home. “KATHLEEN!!!!!! WE HAVE TO GO TO THIS CHURCH!!!!!!!”

I was in the choir. Kathleen learned how to make stained glass. During one of Kathleen’s stained glass classes, me and the PK (Roman, then 5) went to the store and picked up a few things. I just let him chatter about anything and everything in his PK world. I am sure that Roman would not remember me, and I would not recognize him, because that was in 2002. I think he’s taller now. But the feeling of home remains. I literally helped put in the tile floor, and the memory still makes my bones ache… because it wasn’t just a tile floor. It’s a labryinth for pilgrims on their way. Standing in the middle of it is glorious.

And now, I have no strings tying me to anywhere except the thread that runs through DC and me. My favorite memories in DC are alone. For instance, sitting on the banks of the Potomac on the Alexandria side and just people-watching with my journal for a couple of hours. Sitting on the mall, watching dogs go by and hoping that famous people own them. Walking through Air and Space with nothing but awe. Accidentally driving into the ghetto late at night and seeing a drug deal go down in front of Frederick Douglass’s house….. because if you get lost in Anacostia, the only roads lead back into Anacostia. I think I ended up in front of the Pepsi plant in MD before I realized that I had just crossed the Anacostia and not the Potomac, and I still didn’t know where I was.

See? This time will be different. I have a personal assistant. Siri would never have let that happen to me.

This time.

I am moving back this week. THIS WEEK. I have a ridiculously cool choice of places to live, both $525 in Arlington, which is unreal. I don’t have a job, but I don’t care. At $525 a month, I can support myself by waiting tables or working at a grocery store as easily as I can here. But at the end of my shift, I am a few blocks from the Metro with tablet and bluetooth keyboard in hand.

I am hoping my writing takes off regarding DC…. and not “takes off” in terms of response. Donors have poured out their hearts and it is something for which I can never repay or forget. Those donations make me feel like a real writer…. that my words matter. But my writing taking off is about me. I want new subjects mixed with old ones….. new context to add to what I already know about the city.

Even my dad asked the Argo question. “Is this going to be a thing with Argo?” Let me explain how I handled that. “I love DC on my own. I am easy to find. Reach out if YOU want.” I said more than that, because why use three words when three million will do, but that is the gist. Stop being a burger-flippin’ ho and get on board, because even if you lived across the street, I wouldn’t notice if I had my headphones in. No, seriously.

I also told her that I go to Afterwords on Tuesdays, a date that I’m hoping to keep, because it was absolutely calming to have what Howard Schultz calls your “third place.” You’ve got home and work. For some people, that third place is a bar. For me, it’s Afterwords, a cafe next to a bookstore that looks like a micro-Powell’s. I also love Teaism, where for the first time I had ochazuke, soup brewed with Japanese green tea, and lapsang souchang, a tea that you should only order if you like your tea to taste like they put cigarette butts right in the blend. It sounded interesting at the time…………….

I also really love the HRC store, because they have some really cute preppy clothes with the logo on them. I can just see me in my little blue and yellow polo……

Do you see all the ellipses? This is the part where I’m dreaming. I have so many hopes and wants in returning, but only one of them is truly important. Why did I leave DC in the first place? Why did I leave my dream city when the dream changed, but did not die? Why was I too scared to continue on there without Kathleen? I am hoping it was only because I was young and stupid and didn’t know what else to do. Now I know that I need DC for me, and there isn’t anyone on earth that could convince me otherwise. I have a real life there, and one that was worth supporting instead of just running away.

Because when my dad asked me if I really wanted to remain in Houston, the best I could do was “I like the people here, but I could take it or leave it.” It was such a ringing endorsement that I’m glad I was sitting down. I had to deal with the fact that I don’t like Houston in front of someone who lives here, and didn’t want to make it seem like I was ungrateful for a thing. But at the same time, I cannot ignore that although I live here, my heart beats for both Portland and DC, because they’re MY PLACES.

Just like my dad has his.

Amen.

This morning when I woke up, I reveled in 2004. That is the year Dana and I became friends. We’d hung out a few times, but not in a serious, I will go to Walgreen’s in the middle of the night for you sort of way. What brought us together was the all-church camping trip at Mt. St. Helen’s. I didn’t have any equipment, and Dana had a ton. We ended up spending the entire weekend together and I realized that I liked her more than I initially thought. The loud obnoxious blonde woman had some redeeming qualities if you got her alone once in a while…… that’s when the obnoxious stopped and the sweet, strong, silent began.

I thought of that trip this morning because I woke up at Dana’s, on her couch because now that she has one, spending the night isn’t weird anymore. It is amazing how much one piece of furniture calmed my nerves almost instantaneously, because our friend rhythm is back in place. I don’t have to straddle the line emotionally anymore by being her friend all day long and falling asleep next to her and wanting her but knowing it would destroy me…. because I know she wants me for a minute and I want her for a lifetime. I can’t sell myself short. Feeling good in the moment just isn’t worth it to me.

I can’t control how she feels, I can’t even do anything about it, but what I CAN do is concentrate on the things I loved about Dana before I fell in love with her, and to not spend so much time with her that those in love feelings don’t have time to go away. I also want to be able to come and visit the 60-in TV. Let’s not get stupid.

And, okay, I was joking in the paragraph above, but here’s the real reason I need Dana now more than ever. My relationship with Argo requires confidentiality, and I acknowledge it wholeheartedly. Dana is the only one that’s been cleared for me to be able to share thoughts and feelings I have about what’s going on in both of our lives. It does not work for me to be married to Dana, but at the same time, I have to have a place to be able to triangulate, on purpose, because I’m a verbal processor and sometimes I need to talk something out with someone else before I write to Argo. I mean, I say plenty about our lives on this web site, and I will continue to in the way that all friends talk about each other. But just like everyone else in my life, you will never see every side to every story. You get to see the first maybe fifty layers when there are closer to fifty thousand. As I told Argo, “can’t you see that my mind works on an x,y, and z axis? It looks like Minority Report in there….”

I hate that love feelings for both Dana AND Argo have to be on the z-axis. It’s not that they’re not there. It’s that I have to pull them further away from me and take them out and look at them. If Dana doesn’t completely understand my relationship with Argo, how could I EVER expect someone new to be able to jump in without knowing what to say? “This is Argo. She metaphysically drinks at my house every Friday.” I have this image of Aaron and Argo in my head that I cannot get out because it is so stinkin’ adorable.

I call Argo “The Doctor” for multiple reasons, mostly having to do with the fact that none of my other friends have ever met her. The picture I have is of Aaron with Rory’s look of absolute disbelief that The Doctor is a real person. It reminds me of when I used to have a crush on Allison Frost, one of the on-air personalities at Oregon Public Broadcasting. We went out on one or two dates, and then she didn’t call me again because I think she met someone else that she liked better- her loss- but after those two dates I started jokingly calling her “my corporeally-challenged celebrity girlfriend on the radio.” Every time she was on the air, either I said that to Dana or she said it to me.

It’s the same deal for me with Argo. I know how her mind works, occasionally, but I don’t know much about her life before she met me… only that she is fabulous and her parents must have done something right, because damn. I also know that she did something right, because damn. Her kids are fabulous, too. The last thing I know is that I did something right by giving her my heart, because she’s been so careful with it. I didn’t get the relationship I thought I was going to get, but the one I got is even stronger. Why would Argo and I ever have to separate if we weren’t romantically involved in the first place? Hoes before hoes, in my case. 🙂 Over time, she’s become the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, taking girlfriends “home to meet Mom” and eating a fuck ton of ice cream together when it doesn’t work out. As I have told her, “I cannot say that I am ‘over you,’ but I can say that I am ready to stop thinking about it. I cannot apologize for what was done to me to make me capable of what I did to you, but I *can* apologize for not going to the doctor sooner and the effects of my illness ON you.” Because of my history, wanting someone’s body when they open up to me is just par for the course. I’ve had to work on this with every relationship I’ve ever been in, save the one with Aaron. We didn’t click in a crush sort of way. We clicked in a “lesbro” sort of way immediately, even though he knew I was bi from the beginning.

It feels good to have progress in this area of my life. I decided that Argo was going to be the last one. The last friendship in which I would ever struggle with eros, because I’d hurt her so much that I began to see it as the damage I can inflict when I am focused on it. By the same token, I also remember her telling me on the first day that she liked to rap to Eminem. I said, “explain to me exactly how I’m not going to fall in love with you. USE BIG WORDS.”

This whole triangle with Dana and Argo has been a lesson in love for me. I had to learn how to bend and sway like a tree caught in warm summer breezes, because the more I tried to control what happened between the three of us, the more difficult life got.

The more I laid on the ground and watched the clouds roll by, I began to see how nice it was to go camping in my mind’s eye, letting the peace all around me calm my need to control everything. It’s the main reason I am so spiritual and religious. It gets my enormous ego out of the way so that I can see I am not the be all and end all.

God tells me this in a very loud voice, because when I am camping, I am still enough to hear it.

I used to only do recommendations on Wednesdays, but I’ve had some pretty spectacular stuff lately, so I have to share.

Mountain Dew Kickstarter

Only 80 calories for a tallboy, and it’s orange juice mixed with Mountain Dew. You cannot go wrong here. It’s what Mountain Dew LiveWire would be if it were good. Plus, it’s got a little more caffeine than regular soda, so if you are known for mainlining soda to keep awake, this is a good one. Things like this are invaluable for me, because most of the time, I do not slam caffeine. I just keep the bus from going under 50.

Gansito

It’s a Mexican pastry by a company called Marinela. Think Twinkie dipped in chocolate with both creme and strawberries in the middle. I could seriously say goodbye to every Twinkie on the planet but they would have to pry Gansito from my cold dead hands.

Pepino Limon Gatorade

Even my three-year-old friend likes it. Beat that with a stick. BTW, Pepino is Spanish for cucumber. Just thought I’d warn you up front. I told Josie that it was cucumber, and she said, “but CUCUMBERS ARE SWEET!” I let her taste it, and I was SHOCKED.

St. Arnold’s Root Beer

I haven’t had a St. Arnold’s root beer for like, 20 years, but I was in the store looking for something to share with Aaron and it jumped out at me. My everyday favorite root beer is Diet Barq’s, but there is nothing like hand-crafted, with a foamy head so you get a mustache. I have really bad acid reflux, so I don’t drink alcohol much at all but I still want to feel festive, damnit! This fits the bill better than anything, because even beer lovers will go, “SHIT! You have St. ARNOLD’S???? WHERE?” It’s my neighbor Robert’s favorite treat, too. He buys a six pack and hides them all over the house so he doesn’t drink them all at once. He just finds them. This actually isn’t a bad plan………….

Morning Joe

A few years ago, Starbucks took a page from Ben & Jerry and named a coffee after Joe Scarborough, the morning commentator on MSNBC. I enjoy Joe (as much as I can given our politics, anyway), so I bought a bag. Holy Jebus is it good. They discontinued it and I have been mourning ever since. Cut to Saturday, where I was shopping in Foodarama of all places, and they had it. I only bought one bag, but if money had been no object I would have cleaned them out. It’s the kind of coffee I like- strong so it doesn’t need anything. It is perfect as is.

The Redeye at Starbucks

The redeye is really simple. Just coffee with an extra shot of espresso. I’m putting it here because it’s an off-menu, and all coffee places call it something different. In Portland, it’s a shot in the dark or a wizard jump. I enjoy it so much that I do not get anything else at Starbucks, which works in my favor because I am a very cheap date. In the morning, all I want is coffee. In the afternoon, I do not switch orders. I still just want some coffee, and no, I don’t want any whip on it. Plus, I hate Pike’s Place. I hate it so much. It is McDonald’s level and you’re paying what seems like eight dollars for it. The espresso fixes the taste a little……. Saying this because Howard in all of his infinite wisdom has decided we’re not allowed to have bold pick after noon. Yes, I know you can get a pour-over. I don’t want to wait and it’s not as strong.

Letting Someone Else Drive

Baby, what do you want to listen to? I don’t even care because I am playing Candy Crush Soda Saga….. all the way there.

Once Argo and I were in a fight and she said that I felt I had the right to say anything I wanted in the way that I wanted and other people had that same right. It was such a great line that it has stayed in my mind and I have plagiarized it over and over (thanks, schweetha’at). She’s right. People DO have the right to say whatever they want, and I was being a jerk by stopping her and trying to head her off at the pass. The take home message was that I needed to be a better listener and stop talking. In a lot of ways, I have.

I went after a bigot (Wayne LaPierre) on Facebook today, and someone chewed me out over it. Here’s the Facebook post, and the comments (because I don’t know this guy…. not my friend…. all my shit is public, etc.).

Let me translate for you. “I don’t like ni**ers in the White House, but this is the only political way I know how to say it. I am not educated enough to know what I am talking about, but even though I have run out of things to say, I have not stopped talking.” We need to get these people out of politics. Their time is so over. “Demographically symbolic?” Eat a dick.

Here’s the comment where I got upset:

I don’t think the additional commentary is needed. The man’s stand on their own. He feels Obama only got elected for symbolic reasons and that is the reason some voted for him but some people also were mad at Republicans and wanted a change and some just liked him regardless of his race which is actually mixed anyway. It was not an appropriate statement to make but your added “translation” is also not needed. People are smart enough to “read between the lines.”

I’m sure they are, but here’s my reply to that one after sending him a quick comment saying he had the right to think whatever he wanted:

I thought more about your comment, Steve, and the fact that you explained to me why my opinion was wrong is part of the problem. I have the right to say whatever I want, and so do you. The fact that you need to mansplain why I was wrong says so much more about you than it does about me.

And in closing, my final quote on that thread:

There are just things I will no longer tolerate, like Meryl Streep. I will not tolerate my leaders seeing color. I will not tolerate my leaders seeing gender or sexual orientation. I will not tolerate our leaders thinking one American life is worth more than another.

As you well know, I like a black girl. I constantly feel a loss as to how to react to her because I don’t want to be wrong. I want to hold her while she cries about innocent people being gunned down by the police for no evident reason. I want to be her ally, and I don’t even know where to start. Maybe that is the purpose of interracial relationships in the first place. You don’t see inequality until you live it. Sexual orientation is one thing. If I am in danger, I know not to say anything and I use the pronoun game LIKE A BOSS. But there’s no hiding black and white. All I can do is pray that I start to see evidence of white privilege and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

Because I have the right to say whatever I want, as long as I’m also willing to listen. You cannot imagine how much painstaking patience this takes for me, as I am so good with patience to begin with (that was a lie…. I repent).

Thanks again, Argo. I am so much smarter when I can just rip you off verbatim. The tip is in the mail.

I was married to Dana for seven years and change. I was married to Kathleen for 11 months. During both of those divorces, I learned things that you just don’t learn without going through it. When Kathleen left me, I was a grand total of 24 years old. Now I’m almost 38. My perspective is quite a bit different now than it was then. I wish I could say that the same principles apply, but they do not. Age is everything when it comes to all-out change.

1. In the South, they sell you this line of crap that some man is going to show up and complete your whole life, and he is going to be your one true love. Southern lesbians are not immune to this fairy tale, so when I got divorced the first time around, I thought there would never be anybody else for me…. ever. At 38, I know that there are lots of people out there that would gladly have me as a significant other. It’s only a matter of finding them and not scaring them off within a few months. I am deep and intense, and then you pull back a layer and I am deeper and more intense. Women LOVE me until they find out I’m exhausting. And that’s something you only learn with age….. pretty sure I have given Dana, Argo, and Aaron their share of grey hairs as well.
2. I am quieter than I’ve ever been. I don’t generally leave my house. When Argo asked if she needed a restraining order, I laughed to myself and thought, “she is greatly overestimating my desire to drive to the airport. Has she BEEN to Bush lately?” For those of you thinking that I could just drive, you really haven’t been paying attention. I tend to like being alone with my thoughts, because I have so many of them that people get tired of the sound of my voice. I, however, do not. I think I’m a riot. Divorce is a chance for me to spend time with me, and I have turned out to like me a lot. Who cares if other people don’t? My happiness radiates from within, not without. Divorcing at 38 doesn’t make me feel incomplete, as in “I must have a partner to survive!”
3. Her crap is always going to be at your house. She doesn’t want it back. She will NEVER come and get it, ok? Stop trying.
4. The more you get to know yourself, the more you’ll like being divorced. Divorce means never having to compromise on anything, and it needs to be that way for a while. Marriage is hard, hard work. Take a break. Have a Coke and a smile.
5. The more you can let go of the relationship with the ex, the more problems you will find with it, because you do not have on the rose-colored glasses of romance anymore. For instance, Dana was telling me to pick up the kitchen or something like that and I was like, “whoa. Boundary. You do not get to tell me how to run my kitchen.” Had it been any other room in the house, I wouldn’t have cared. Horn in on my kitchen, and I will end you…. or at least, you might wish I had. It’s my KITCHEN. My lifeblood. See? Not having to compromise is a beautiful thing.
6. Divorce is a chance to pick back up with all those friends you dumped while you were cocooning. Case in point: I got to go back to Argo and tell her that I was sorry I dumped a bale of hay on her. She joked back. I am not hoping that we will ever be as close, but it feels good after pushing her away b/c I was worried about my relationship with Dana to think that she’s not leaving. If I can relax, she can, and it feels good to have someone with history with both of us to be able to understand at least half of the 85 sides to the story…. and that’s not even recent. That’s been her day in and day out dedication to letters and smiles over the past two years, not the past two days. Also, Aaron has walked with me EVERY DAY during this process, and I couldn’t have gotten through it without him. He holds me when I cry, and that is worth more to me than gold. He is the big brother I never had, even though he’s younger. I just call him my big brother because he, like everyone else, is taller than me. If there’s anything positive about this divorce, even though I have to reduce Dana’s place at the table, she’s still there…. and so are Argo and Aaron, even when I’ve been a complete tool to all of them. It’s like they all understand this whole long-term friendship thing a hell of a lot better than I do.
7. The difference between being 24 and 37 is that with your friends, recovery time is a lot faster. You’ve walked this path before, and it is familiar. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but marriages only work out half the time. Why should gay people have any better luck than straights?
8. At 37, I do not feel pressure to get remarried in the slightest. You will not meet me in a gay bar (I don’t THINK), nor will you meet me at speed dating or singles night. I am far more likely to date the pizza girl, because she has three things going for her: 1) Right off the bat, I know she is employed. 2) I also know that she drives. 3.) She already knows where I live. If that fails, I picture myself running into a woman accidentally… it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did. I would rather have happily ever after in a serendipitous way than to go out looking for it. I’m old. I can stand on my own two feet. That only comes with age, too.
9. Alternatively, dating is a lot more fun and realistic. We know we’re too old to be fresh. We know we have our own quirks. The best we can do is hope they line up.
10. I have also found that being single is the best way for me to work on religion and spirituality. I can lock myself in my office for HOURS, which to me is the equivalent of workaholic. That does not go over well in marriage; I know I certainly hated those tendencies in Dana, but I hated them less when I was just as consumed as she was because I could understand it differently. If I’m writing a post, you just have to wait. Period.
11. When I go out, I do not have to communicate with anyone else. Coordinating schedules is hard for me. I’m terrible with time and I tend to get lost in the moment……….. and I want it that way. I’m probably walking and thinking (I do my best thinking while mobile). I don’t want to talk to you. I really don’t.
12. I am a writer, which presents challenges in a relationship.  I want to be in the middle of the action so I can write about it later. This has led me to do some pretty brave and stupid things, but I am a better writer because of it. I became a better writer by “staking out,” hiding back, and just observing what’s in front of me. Having a partner with me interrupts my flow… yet another thing I would have not known without spending time single.
13. Who says you have to have a date other people to begin dating? Why not date yourself? Why do you have to have an invitation to do things? I don’t. If I want to go to the beach, I just go. I walk and talk to myself and create inner worlds that may or may not collide with reality. I can’t do that in front of other people…. even with Argo, it was only in black and white, letters sent through the air that taught me as much about myself as I hope it taught her… for better or for worse. However, I never would have gotten to where I am now without inviting myself into my own silence, and not waiting for Dana or my friends to dictate what that looks like for me.
14. I will close with a Tony Robbins quote- “you learn more when you’re pondering, not when you’re partying.” Never has this been more true for me than right now.

So, evangelicals. Does this sound like “gay” divorce to you? Maybe we should just call it what it is…. divorce. No pretenses. It sucks all the way around…………..

if you let it.